My Heart
by Mockingjay of France
Summary: Valeria became a victor ten years ago. She has a new life now. But her scars have never left, and she is not the same. And when events occur that reopen old wounds, she wonders how her heart will ever heal. A story about letting go. Sequel to My Hero. Read that one first please, so you understand this one better.
1. Chapter 1- The Baby

_CRASH!_

"No! Not this year! I won't go back!"

_CRASH!_

"Please, Val, stop! You'll hurt the baby!"

At the mention of my unborn, I break down and begin to sob. I set down the remaining china plates that were in my hands. "I just- I can't do it, Zane. Year after year I do everything for these kids and year after year I watch them die!"

"I know, Val, I know." He kneels and places his hand on my thigh. Even after all these years, the scars still show on my back, just as the wounds of watching the people I loved die are still fresh in my mind. He continues. "But you also know as well as I do that there's nothing we can do about it!"

"But if we all banded together... Isn't there twelve of us and only one of them? If only we would put aside our differences as districts and unify, we could overtake them!" I must still not be thinking clearly. Talking like this is dangerous.

"Shhh, Val! I agree with you as much as anyone, but you have to lower your voice! The Capitol has hurt you once, and I can't let them do that again."

I lower my head and bite my lip. What would I do without him? Who would be there to keep me under control? Suddenly a teenager's voice breaks the silence.

"Mom? Are you all right?"

"Yes Dahlia. I'm sorry."

"I need to get your mom to the train station now," Zane says.

"I'll see you in a few weeks, girl," I say, "Love you."

"I love you too, Mom," she says with a smile, but I can tell she's worried about me. All the time I am faced with the urge to slip away, to let my mind exit from this world that has never welcomed me. It is for her and for Zane that I fight it.

...

I hate this train. Sitting in it brings on such a flood of memories that I usually just have to sit with my head down in my hands, trying to block my mind from the world in any manner. But this year, I find that it's slightly more comforting to instead rest my head on my very pregnant belly. Finally, in just two months she'll be here. But already she's as alive to me as Dahlia.

We stop by the Capitol to pick up Otillie before heading to District Seven. She's delighted to see my overlarge belly, but her usually ignorant self annoys me. She doesn't realize where she's headed or why. Doesn't she know how much damage she's helping to cause? Of course Otillie didn't think she was causing damage when I won, but damage was still done. I have never been the same and never will be. My family was scarred. My brother was killed...

When I roll off the train in District Seven, I let out a shiver. I guess I must be used to the mild beach climate of the fishing district now. District Seven is set in the piney forests of the Canadia region, which is much farther north and much farther inland than District Four.

Why do I despise this place so much? Wasn't it once my home? This was where I knew who I was and what my place in this world was. That's another thing the Games took away from me. My identity. I am not the same girl I was. That girl left with the kiss that was placed on his forehead.

I sit on the stage in front of the Justice Building, watching the kids assemble in front of me. Otillie comes on with her usual exuberance and I'm thinking, _don't you know? Don't you understand? Don't you even care?_

"Welcome!" she announces, "To the 74th Hunger Games!"

The names are Phox Karal and Davina Sarim. Phox is a tall sixteen-year-old with black hair and a strong build. Davina is also sixteen with blonde hair. She is also tall and athletic. Maybe this year I'll only have to see one die. This reaping passes with no drama, and before I know it, I am back on the train. I'm waiting for the tributes to finish their goodbyes and board when I find a surprise waiting for me.

"Another year, another Games. Awful, isn't it?"

I haven't seen her since I first left the District. "Johanna." She looks almost exactly the same. Except for the hollow look in her eyes. I guess I must have that too.

"Sooo... that cutie from Four finally got you knocked up, eh?" She reaches out to pat my belly. "How much longer?"

"Two months."

"Congratulations," she says sarcastically. "Your life is over."

"We already have a kid, Johanna."

"You've never had a baby. Teenagers don't need constant attention. Besides..." She winks at me. "Childbirth."

"Well thanks. I really needed the encouragement. Why are you here, Johanna?"

"They're letting me take a vacation to the Capitol. Don't you go thinking you're the only one who needs to get away from this place sometimes."

"Well I'd rather be in District Seven than in the Capitol any day."

"Not me. The food is better in the Capitol."

She hasn't changed a bit.

...

Just like nine years ago, I don't want to watch the recap of the reapings. I don't want to see the faces of the kids that I will be training these two to kill. But here I am, clenching my teeth to keep all my anger inside me. It doesn't help that almost every tribute this year is noticeable.

From District 1 there's a beautiful girl with a ridiculous name. The boy from 1 has an equally weird name. At least the names specifically I don't remember. The girl who volunteers from 2 is small with black hair and a don't-mess-with-me grin much like Johanna's. Next a boy with monstrous muscles volunteers with an eagerness that makes me sick.

And all of a sudden I think I recognize the boy tribute from District 3. But how is that possible? A name comes to me and pierces me so deep I must take a few seconds to catch my breath. Katana. This must be her brother. Oh... The odds are not in that family's favor...

And then they're showing District 4 and I'm not really paying attention until I hear the name.

"Dahlia Tano."

_CRASH!_


	2. Chapter 2- The Odds

_CRASH!_

But just as the second glass smashes against the inside wall of the train, I feel the Peacekeepers thrust me back and pin me against my chair. Have they been on the train this whole time? They handcuff me and wheel me back into my compartment. But I'm not done yet. Once they leave, I grab everything I can reach and chuck it as far as I can. I scream until my throat runs dry and then some. Anything to quell the pain, the burning pain that seems to be eating me up from the inside out.

Dahlia. Sweet Dahlia. Who survived on her own for three months after her mother abandoned her. Who will never get to meet her sister. Who I will never get to say goodbye to.

...

I am lying on my bed in the training center. The authorities decided I was not fit to mentor this year, so they let Johanna do it. So for the past three days I have been untouchable, unconnected to the outside world. I fact, I feel as if I'm not here at all, not in this room. Instead I'm living scenes from my life, from years past.

It was five months after the wedding. Winter, but still mild in District 4. I was rolling along the streets next to Zane when I saw her. Huddled in a corner alley, her silken black hair in a tangled mat, her thin body barely hanging on. I'd seen kids like this before, but this one, when she looked up and her eyes met with mine, something was different. That gaze triggered in me a calmness I had not felt in years. Something only Wren could even bring me close to. And from that moment I knew what had to happen.

The memories keep coming, fast and strong. I want to scream, to cry, to do anything to get out of this, but I'm still locked out of reality. No sound will exit my mouth; no tears will fall from my eyes. I cannot see the room around me, the ceiling above me, only these memories.

And then comes an unexpected memory from much longer ago. Before I met Zane, before even the Games that changed my life. I was ten years old. I was out in the woods, looking for Scorpi. I knew I wasn't supposed to be there. The tree fell so fast that I didn't even realize what had happened until I turned and looked back at it, at him. Sprawled out on the ground with one hand pinned under the tree. Sixteen-year-old Carwin Ballantyn. He had shoved me out of the path of the falling tree just in time, and lost his arm in the process.

Three weeks later, I stood on the sidelines of the reaping. The name was Conlan Ballantyn, but it was one of those rare years of family love. Carwin was killed within the opening minute of the Games.

A lost arm for a stranger. A lost life for his brother. And that same brother following in his footsteps years later by giving up everything for a stranger. So what am I doing here, sulking in the past, crying and screaming and breaking things, when I should be out there being strong for Dahlia? The shame seems to cut though my heart like a knife, tearing it to pieces. Finally, I awaken from these nightmares and begin to cry.

...

This is my last chance. The interviews are in minutes, and after them I will have to leave for the Games Headquarters. Finally I get a chance and catch her eye. It's like the first time our eyes met, except this time it may be our last. "Goodbye," I whisper, and she nods, tears filling her eyes.

Why? Why me? Why her? I never asked for any of this to happen! Because I know that her name being drawn was no accident, no coincidence. It was rigged because for people in the Capitol, this is the perfect tragic scenario. The daughter of the victors.

Or maybe it was because President Snow is still mad at me. And of course I would never have gone along with Conlan's plan if I had known it would impact so many of the people I loved. Scorpi and Dahlia. My family, my friends, Wren. That is so me. Always thinking of myself and my hatred toward the Capitol and not stopping to think of others. Will my list of things to be ashamed of never run dry?

I stop to listen to the interviews, and can't help considering if Dahlia has a chance. She scored an 8 in training, because she's a career and was entitled to attend the training academy back in District 4. Hearing of this score gives me hope for a few seconds, a hope that is immediately dashed when I see the boy from 2 up close and hear that the girl from District 12 got an 11.

The more I hear of this girl from District 12, the one they call Katniss, the more I am shocked. I didn't watch her reaping, because I was being hauled to my room on the train car, but apparently she volunteered for her little sister. And for the first time, the tributes from 12 were given good parade costumes. Better than good. They were on fire. It probably wasn't real fire, but I don't see that it mattered. Either way, people payed attention to them. And then there was that score. Eleven. The rarest of scores given out, and a girl from 12 took it. This Katniss Everdeen's odds have not been in her favor, and yet she has defied the odds at every turn. I don't know whether to be impressed or angry.

As Dahlia's interview begins, I am completely focused in. They talk of her parade costume, her training score, and then what I'm dreading the most.

"So Dahlia," Ceasar says tenderly, "from watching news coverage we know your parents are victors and that you are adopted. We also know that your mother became paralyzed in the Games and went mad. Do you want to tell us about them?

From the look on her face I know she doesn't want to. But it's not like she can say no. "They're just parents. My mother's mind has healed some, but she still has scars, both physically and emotionally that will never go away. The same with my dad."

Ceasar nods understandingly. "And how has their history in the Games affected you?"

"Having victors as parents has helped me to be more sensitive to the tributes I see every year. And I know because of them that just because a victor survives the Games, their lives may not be much better than if they were dead. Victors don't have everything perfect."

"So do you think you will be following in their footsteps?"

Dahlia hesitates. "I don't know. I want to win, but not for the fame or the money or anything like that. I just want to get back to them. My parents have been through enough. And..." Here it comes, she's about to drop the bomb. "To meet my sister."

The camera trains on me and my fat belly, and I look down because I don't want everyone to see my face. But then the buzzer goes off, and Ceasar dismisses her. How will I watch this? Tomorrow the Games start, and tomorrow may be the day that I will watch my daughter die.

* * *

**REEEEVIIIIEEEEWWWWW! Come on, haven't you figured it out by now? I want your opinions, negative or otherwise! That's how I make my stories better! So please, I'm begging you, review! That is all.**


	3. Chapter 3- The Allies

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin!"

There she is. Standing on her pedestal, ready to go. This is so hard. How can I watch what's ahead? I was there once. Standing on my own pedestal, taking in the scenery, trying to prepare myself for the gong. Knowing I could be dead in less than a minute.

The Cornucopia is set in a clearing; on one side of it is a field of tall grass, on another a lake, and on yet another side thick piney woods. And there they all stand; all of them bitter enemies. They're all eyeing different weapons inside the Cornucopia. The girl from 2 seems fixed on an array of knives. The monstrous boy, Cato I think, has his eye on a large, elegant sword. Katniss is gaping at a shiny silver bow and a sheath of arrows.

Then the camera turns to her district partner, Peeta, as he shakes his head at her, warning her not to head in there. Peeta had announced his love for Katniss in his interview, but as a mentor, I know better. More than likely it was just an angle to get sponsors.

Dahlia's jumping off just as we hear the gong and I'm thinking, no! Head for the woods where you'll be safe! But I also know that since she grew up with a family about as rich as you can get away from the Capitol, she doesn't know as well as some of the others how to be hungry, to find her own food in the wild.

She's running toward the Cornucopia. She's fast, unlike how her mother used to be. As she reaches down to pick up a sickle, she narrowly dodges a large rock thrown by the boy from District 11. Dahlia stands up, and her sickle purposely avoids the girl from District 1. I'm trying to figure out why when I remember that she's a career. She's most likely allied with the others.

More tributes near the Cornucopia. The cameras aren't on Dahlia all of the time, but I see her every now and then. Through a splatter of blood appears Dahlia's first kill. Davina. The girl from District 7. Then she turns and runs after the boy, Phox.

As he falls, I realize something. She's doing that for me. So I won't be obligated to sign them up for sponsors. So I won't have to worry about caring about them anymore. To ease the conflict within me. I sigh. She's fighting for her life and yet thinking of me.

It's not long before there are only five careers and two other tributes on the plain near the Cornucopia. The careers watch in shock as Peeta picks up a girl by her neck and slits her throat with his knife.

"Hey Loverboy," shouts Cato, "we could use you with the alliance!"

"You sure?" Peeta shouts back.

"Of course," says the blonde girl from 1, "you're pretty good."

Peeta drops the girl's body and says with a smile, "How about Katniss? I know where she is, and I can take you to her."

Now it's Cato's turn to smile. "All right. You'll both be pretty valuable allies. It's a deal then."

"Deal."

Then a new voice pipes up from inside the Cornucopia. "I can help you." The scrawny boy from 3 who I think was Katana's brother cautiously steps out.

"Really?" asks the dark-haired girl from 2, raising her knives. "How so?"

The boy covers the sides of his mouth with his hands and whispers something. The careers and Peeta smile. Then he adds, "And I can be your guard."

"Okay," says Cato reluctantly, "but one mistake and you're dead."

The rest of the day is uneventful as the five of them and Peeta go out hunting for the other tributes, leaving the smaller boy behind. I pull myself away from the screen and make my way to my compartment in the Games Headquarters. I go to sleep with my hatchet clutched in my hands, as I usually do when I'm not with Zane.

Tonight my nightmares are especially terrible. I see every Hunger Games I've ever watched or mentored for, all with Dahlia right in the middle. Finally I'm back in the Games myself. I'm haunted by the faces of the tributes who died because I lived. Katana. Gia. Conlan. It's been nine years, and still I can't forgive myself for their deaths. What would have happened if I hadn't been so caught up in my own selfish, vengeful desires? I wake up sweating and crying.

I hurry back to watch the continuing coverage of the Games. I let out I sigh of relief when I see Dahlia. So she's still alive. For now. They show replays of what happened in the night. The career pack came upon only one girl. She had built a fire because it was unbearably cold, and they tracked her down and killed her. The cameras also showed Katniss, silent as a stone, up in a tree, watching their every move. Peeta confirmed my suspicions that he had only been misleading the group when pointed out the direction Katniss went in even though it was clear to all of us with an outside view that he had no idea where she is.

This morning, however, they don't show much of Dahlia because there is something more interesting going on. Katniss has not found water yet and throughout the day begins to deteriorate from dehydration. So most of the day they show her stumbling along, gasping for water.

I do get to see a little more coverage from the camp down by the lake. I find out what the scrawny boy -Nolan, I think- well I find out what his plan was. Somehow he manages to unearth the mines from around the starting pedestals, reactivate them, and rebury them around the large pyramid of supplies left over from the Cornucopia fight. Now they will be able to retrieve supplies as needed, as long as they know the correct path in, and no one else will have access to their bounty. Perfect. He has his sister's cleverness.

Then something unexpected happens. I begin to watch the Games intently. As she stands on the verge of death, I realize I care about this Katniss girl. But why? I don't know her. She's my daughter's enemy. And yet, I feel as though she's important. That somehow she will complete a piece in me, fulfill a wish. How that's even possible, I don't know. What I do know is that I will not go to bed tonight. I will see if she survives.

Katniss stumbles and falls. I am dismayed, thinking that no, she'll die, just another fallen tribute. Then I notice what her fingers are tracing. _Get up_, I'm thinking, _that's mud! There's water near!_ Her mind must be too foggy to process it. All of a sudden it hits her like a lightning bolt. Her head jerks up and she crawls through a tangle of plants to a pond.

A commotion wakes me. I must have fallen asleep here in the headquarters, and now all of the other mentors and the Capitol people are responding to what's on the screen. I try to focus my eyes and make sense of what I see. Fire! The trees are ablaze with it. The camera jumps between footage of careers and other tributes screaming, running, jumping. Finally, most of them seem to have gained control when the next twist comes.

The woods come alive with new threats; each designed to test a tribute's strength. A tiny tribute must crawl under a tight space under a fallen tree to save her from the flames. A monstrous one heaves a large rock out of the way. Katniss dodges fireballs designed to test her agility. For the careers, their mass supply of weapons comes in handy against a pack of tiny vermin. Capitol-bred, genetically-altered rodents with an assumingly dangerous bite.

I release my held breath as it seems to be working. They have managed to avoid bites by putting their swords and spears to their full use. Almost all of the beasts are dead when one of them lunges toward a girl. She jumps back and slams into a burning branch. The scream that exits my lips is in sync with hers as Dahlia's shoulder bursts into flame.


	4. Chapter 4- The Ocean

Several pairs of hands hold me up from behind, and I think I must have slipped out of my chair, but I keep watching. Peeta has beaten out the flame on Daliah's shoulder, although she looks badly burned. I shout at the screen as Cato insists they keep moving on even though many of them seem to be substantially slowed down by minor or else not-so-minor burns.

Katniss also seems to have been burned, and though she's been slowed down too, it looks as if the career group will soon be nearing her. Obviously the fire was meant to drive them together, and it worked.

Why do I want so badly for Katniss to survive? If she lives, Dahlia dies, and that's a fact. Besides, I have no real connection to her. I don't know her, don't know anything about her, have never even met her. She could be a terrible person and I wouldn't even know it. So why do I care about her?

I must put my puzzling aside for a minute because Dahlia and the others have caught up to Katniss and are chasing her through the forest. They're faster than her, and are gaining on her, but she can climb trees. So can they, of course, but her small frame can be held up in branches that are at least twenty feet higher than their heavily muscled bodies can reach. So after a few failed attempts at climbing up after her, the careers finally decide to make camp for the night under her tree. I decide that I must also head back to the Games Headquarters dorm and go to bed.

I wake to a commotion in the dorm. At this point in the Games, a commotion like this can only mean one thing: action in the arena. I hurriedly scramble up, get dressed, and wheel out into the hall. Johanna quickly spots me and pushes me along, fighting the crowd, until we are back in the main headquarters.

It is set up much like an ancient sports bar. It is the place most of the victors and mentors spend their time during the Games, not only because there are television sets everywhere, but because the richest people in the Capitol are here too, so we can sign up the sponsorship deals for our tributes. Many of the victors particularly enjoy the abundance of alcoholic drinks here as well, although I've never had much of a taste for alcohol.

My eyes turn to the screens. It isn't even dawn yet. Katniss is sawing something with her knife. A branch. From the tree she's in. But why? Then I see it. On the end of the branch is a wasp nest. And not just any nest; this one belongs to Tracker Jackers.

Tracker Jackers. The very words bring shivers up my spine. Huge, golden, genetically engineered wasps with stings that cause hallucinations and are excruciatingly painful, if not lethal. Katniss is sawing off the branch on which it rests, and it will fall to the ground just next to her friends in the camp below.

_Yes_, I think. Wait, no! If she succeeds, Dahlia will die. It's likely, anyway. Conflicting emotions rise from within me, and my mind battles my heart as I try to tell myself that I must hope for Katniss's death, knowing that she must be stung to death now if Dahlia is to survive.

And then it happens. The branch gives way and seems to tumble to the ground in slow motion. The sleeping careers aren't sleeping anymore as they scream and thrash, struggling to get the tiny beasts off of them. They take off running as steadily as they possibly can toward their lake. All of them except Glimmer, the girl from District 1. She makes it no more than a few steps before she falls to the ground, overcome by terror as the wasp venom seeps into her body.

Then the camera turns to my daughter. She has made it fifty feet through the woods, but now they are too much for her, and she falls. She is not thrashing anymore, as Glimmer was, but seems to be paralyzed as the wasp venom seizes her limbs.

The television is not letting me watch Dahlia; it insists on focusing on Glimmer, who is not dead yet, but may as well be. Katniss, who must have gotten out of the tree, looks as if she's trying to pry something out from under Glimmer's body. But I never get the time to focus my eyes to see what it is.

The blast of the cannon makes my ears ring. The camera turns back one more time, and I swallow hard as I look at my daughter's dead body. It has been horribly disfigured by the Tracker Jacker stings, and knowing that I will have to bury her like this makes my heart ache even more.

I brace myself for the surge of madness that should follow, but nothing comes. My mind is clear. Silent tears begin to run down my face. Not loud sobbing or choking, just tears. I feel the hands, one by one, slowly come to rest on my shoulders. I am sane. In the face of another tragedy in my life, I have finally held strong.

In less than two hours, I board a train headed for District 4 from the Capitol station. The Games kept going, but I haven't watched them. Zane and I need to do this together.

At the station, a car comes to pick me up, but I refuse. The Victor's Village isn't far, and I want to stop somewhere first.

I roll along the cobblestone streets of my district. Two home districts. Not many can say that. But now, District 7 is such a haunting place to me. It brings up awful memories of the 64th Hunger Games, and of my brother's death. District 4 is more of a home to me now.

I make my way through the village, where Zane use to live before the 66th Hunger Games. He won two years after me, but he was eighteen, whereas I was only fourteen at the time of my victory, so he's two years older than me. As a boy, he worked on some of the more rocky beaches of the district, catching the rare fish that only swim there with nets, then spearing them with tridents.

Another District 4 victor, Finnick Odair, who won the year after me, became victor partly because of the skill that came from this job. But Finnick was only fourteen, and when you're that young, you just can't have the kind of skill it takes to win on your own. His victory was primarily because of his looks. The sponsors were practically tripping over each other to send him anything he needed or wanted. Tall and muscular, with bronze hair and beautiful sea green eyes, I have to admit that even now he is gorgeous. But Finnick and I have always just been friends. At first this was because I thought he was too cocky, and too much of a player. When he's in the Capitol, he flirts with any and every girl, spends the night with them, and then he leaves, and once he's gone he never comes back. So I was thankful when he left me alone after Zane and I got married. But one day I found out something that changed every bad thing I had ever thought about Finnick Odair.

It was summer, right before the 70th Hunger Games, and for a year he had been acting weird around a young victor named Annie Cresta. He would blush when she talked to him, and when he talked back to her, instead of his usual seductive voice, you would hear something sweeter, kinder. It was obvious she loved him, but I was more skeptical that he loved her back. I wanted to warn her. "Don't be a fool!" I wished I could tell her. "He'll abandon you as soon as he gets what he wants." But I didn't, because like me, she lost her sanity after the Games, and unlike me, I don't think she'll ever get it back.

Then one day, walking by his house in the Victor's Village, I overheard a conversation I probably shouldn't have, between Finnick and someone who sounded important.

"No!" Finnick shouted. "Tell the president I can't keep doing this!"

"Mr. Odair, the president is getting impatient. There are many in the Capitol who are paying an exorbitant price for you."

"I don't care! I love Annie now, and I can't keep doing this to her! It was bad enough before, but now I'm hurting her too!"

"You are aware of the consequences if you refuse, Mr. Odair?" Silence. "Fine. I will inform the president."

Finnick didn't go to the Capitol during the Games that year. But it was only a week after I overheard the conversation that I also heard that Finnick's mother had died in a boating accident. So with tears glinting in his blue-green eyes, he reluctantly went back to the Capitol during the 71st games.

Since then, I found out that the same things had happened to Johanna. Except she never gave in. Now she has no family, no friends, but also no one that Snow can use against her anymore. Well, maybe there's me, but I have to be kept alive because I'm still being punished for my own actions against him.

I turn off the village streets and down a path to the beach. My wheels crunch against the sand. The ocean. One of the things I've always liked about District 4. No other district gets to experience this beauty. We're not allowed to swim in it though, not for fun, and there are guards to make sure that rule is followed. But most people in the district are taught to swim, anyway, either for our jobs or so we can save someone if there's an accident.

I've never swam, as there wasn't any place to learn in seven. I suppose it might be possible for me to still learn, but doubtless none of the authorities here would think it's a good idea to teach a paraplegic to swim, and the idea of being surrounded by all that water is frightening to me anyway.

As I stare as the vast expanse of beauty that lies before me, I consider the cruelty of our enemy and all they have taken from us. Millions of people live in immense poverty. Hundreds of innocent teenagers have been killed, all of their families wounded beyond repair. Even the victors, who have escaped poverty, who no longer face the threat of the Hunger Games, the ones who are supposed to have it all together, we have our own set of problems. We face the guilt, the regret, all the psychological scars that come from the arena, and we carry them with us for the rest of our lives. No one who goes into the arena and comes out again comes out the same person. The Capitol also took from me the ability to walk, and now they have taken my daughter from me as well.

And I will never forgive them for that.


	5. Chapter 5- The Uprising

"Val!"

He wasn't expecting me. Zane had been sitting in one of our big, comfortable chairs, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. But once he saw me in the door, he jumped up, ran to me, and picked me up. I feel his strong arms around me, supporting me, as they have so many times. Most people would rather be more self-sufficient, but not me. Zane and I are co-efficient, always supporting each other, always helping each other. So I let him carry me a lot.

But tonight, as he carries me to the chair he was in earlier, I absolutely don't know what I would do without him. I sit on his lap, and there we stay for what seems like forever, wrapped in each other's arms, crying, comforting each other. My fingers stroke his long black hair, and his rub my pregnant belly. Somehow, we make it through the night this way.

In the morning though, we both realize we can't stay like this for truly forever. So I say what both of us are thinking.

"What are we going to do?!" I choke out between the tears that I had expected to run dry over five hours ago.

"I don't know," he chokes back. "I really don't know."

But really, I do know. We are going to get through this, and we are going to do it together. So that's what we do. We make it through the day together, and we stay strong for each other. Even when the wooden box arrives on our doorstep, we calmly bury her in our back yard, placing flowers next to her memorial.

We watch the rest of the Games, because we have to. We watch that little girl die, we watch Katniss and Peeta pretend to fall in love, and we watch Katniss defy the Capitol by holding out that nightlock. And as much as it pains me to admit, I am glad to see them win, because they just might be the nudge it takes to urge the people of this country to action.

After the Games, we painfully continue with our lives for about a month, until finally….

"ZANE!" I screech.

He doesn't have to ask. "Let's go!" he shouts, and wheels me right out the door and to our car. There are no real doctors in the districts, but there is an apothecary shop that will have to suffice, because neither of us know anything about delivering babies. And twelve exhausting hours later….

She is perfect. My baby. My child. My own flesh and blood in this tiny bundle I hold in my arms. I worried I would not like her. I usually don't like babies. They are gross and slobbery and snotty and often not as cute as most girls would insist. But this one… how could I do anything but love her? She is perfect, and she is mine.

But she was also born in the midst of our mourning. So when Zane asks me what we are going to name her, I calmly tell him, "Maurissa," and he agrees.

In the next few months, I struggle to raise a newborn as Zane helps to plan an uprising. Yes, an uprising. I am delighted to find that enough people have been motivated enough to finally do this. As uneasy as I am about the idea of raising a small child in wartime, I am ready. If a revolution does not happen soon, it never will.

Zane does not tell me much information about the uprising. That's fine with me. It would be too dangerous for him to trust me with stuff about it, and I know it. I only know that my job will be to get the Peacekeepers out of the Children's Home to avoid a hostage situation. I will be part of a small group of young women with infants (though I will be the only one in a wheelchair), and the idea is that if we can get there before the uprising really starts, the Peacekeepers will be less suspicious of us, and once we're in we can flush them out.

The target day is set for exactly a week after the Victory Tour comes through the district. As Katniss and Peeta stand on the stage, I remember my own Victory Tour. Not much of it, of course, because I was in such a fog at the time, but I do recall some.

I remember having to say the words that I didn't mean, that I would never say if they were my own. Most people do not love the Capitol enough to say that stuff, but I had, as I still have, a hatred for them that could never go away no matter how many riches they granted me for my victory.

I remember the faces looking up at me, the ones that were supposed to act happy for my victory, but really all I could see was anger. Some were angry not at me, but at the Capitol, for putting them through this. Some, more those in the Career districts, were angry because a girl from District 7 won instead of their district. But some, most actually, were angry at me because Conlan specifically killed their tributes to save me. So, by default, I killed them.

But most of all I remember looking at the families, standing on the stage in front of giant portraits of their fallen tributes. Especially the family for the girl right here in this district, because she was about to kill me, but instead Conlan killed her, and I won. And now I am right here, in the very place they were ten years ago. The irony hurts. This, I realize, is why it has taken so long for a revolution to start. The Games were a very clever move on the Capitol's part. They have made the districts enemies of each other. So I make sure to catch Katniss in the eye and show her that I forgive her. Because she was only trying to survive. Wasn't I, too?

A week later, we are all in our places. I clutch Maureen in my arms, but there's a gun in the side pocket of my wheelchair. Zane has already left to play out his role, but I am still in the square. My signal to head for the Children's Home and for others to begin their parts will be the lights flashing five times in the windows of our Justice Building. I've just seen them flash twice when a pain like nothing I've ever experienced, not even in childbirth, tears through my left side.

A bullet! I've been shot! But Maurissa is okay. Crying, wailing really, but okay.

"Mrs. Tano!" Why is that Peacekeeper shouting at me? "The President requests your presence!" That's why.

I reach for my gun, but another Peacekeeper shoots my hand. I scream as my baby is ripped from my arms. There are many people around, but this is a battle. No one will notice me. I am blindfolded and handcuffed and lifted out of my chair. I am truly helpless now. As the Peacekeeper runs off with me in his arms, the only thing I can do is scream. The last thing I remember is the butt of his gun slamming into my head.

* * *

**Ok, so I know she probably wouldn't be doing anything like that, but hey, how am I supposed to know anything about uprisings? Oh, and I'm kind of having fun naming my characters, especially Conlan and Maurissa. Seriously, look up their name meanings. Now I will leave you at this awesome cliffhanger as I go on vacation for a while. Happy waiting, and remember, you read, you review, you got it?**


	6. Chapter 6- The Time

The pain. Oh, the pain. Every inch of me hurts. I am in true agony. But they won't let me die. They are purposely keeping me alive.

I don't know how long I have been here. It could have been days, it could have been weeks, it could have been years, and I would have no way of knowing. There is no clock, no schedule, not even a sun to show me how time is passing, if it even is at all.

Most of the time I stay huddled naked in the back corner of my cell, staring into the darkness. Every so often they come in either to bring me a little bit of "food" or to torture me for information I don't have. I don't have a wheelchair, and have gotten so weak by now that I can't even scoot myself around my cell.

It's a large room, dark and gloomy as may be expected, and I am confined to my little corner of it, marked off by bars. I think there are ten of these little compartments around the room altogether, in two rows of five against the side walls, but mine is the only one occupied. Maybe they want me in solitary confinement, but maybe I just belong to a special class of criminals.

I don't know what's going on in the outside world. I don't know if our uprising succeeded. I don't know where the Capitol and the districts stand right now. I don't know if my daughter is alive. I don't even know if Zane is alive. If he is, does he know that I am? He probably thinks I'm dead.

I remember something my psychologist taught me to do a long time ago….

_My name is Valeria Tano. I am twenty-four, or maybe twenty-five, years old. I am selfish. Because of me, people are dead. I was in the Hunger Games. Conlan saved me. I should be dead. Everyone would be better off if I had died then. And people will be better off if I die now._

But I can't. I have tried over and over, and they will not let me die! It would be the simplest form of mercy, but they cannot do it.

Time keeps passing. My pain grows worse. I have physical pain from being beaten and tortured and starved. I have mental pain from enduring it all with each passage of time, and not even knowing how much time is passing. But worst of all is the emotional pain. My selfishness has caused an ever-growing list of deaths. Twenty-three tributes. Scorpi. Dahlia. Maybe even Maurissa. I think now I am equally angry at both the Capitol and myself.

At some point, they come in like they usually do, but this time, they bring a TV. They turn it on then leave again and I am almost blinded by the brightness, the color. The reapings for the 75th Hunger Games. Almost six months. That's how long I've been in here. Does it seem like that long? I don't know. But right away I notice something is different about these reapings. Of course. These are all the old victors. I used to wonder what they would do for the Third Quarter Quell, but now it's clear.

Panic begins to set in. Could they still reap me? Is it possible that I might have to back into the arena? If given a choice between that and staying where I am, I would stay. Nothing could compare with that kind of horror. But forget about me, what about Zane? Will I have to watch him die too? It's all too much.

But they don't reap Zane. It's Finnick. Poor Annie. That girl has been through Hell already. When they get to the District 7 reapings, they describe Johanna as the "last living female victor from District Seven," and I know I'm safe, but Johanna will probably die.

After this, everything changes for me. They leave the TV on, but the only time they come in now is to bring me my "food". With the television going, I can keep track of time better, and I can distract my mind by watching. But that doesn't stop it all from hurting. When I see Finnick's interview, it hurts because I am one of only a few people who knows who he's actually talking to. When I see Johanna, it hurts because she doesn't know that her only friend in the world is still alive. When I see Katniss, even though I never knew her, it hurts because with her, the last spark of the rebellion will die as well.

On the morning of the Games, the Bloodbath has only just ended when the doors open. In they come, this time dragging someone in. They take him to the cell next to me and then leave. He's beaten and bloody and unconscious, but I know who it is. Cinna. Katniss's stylist. I bet I can guess why he's here.

But Cinna doesn't last long. The next time they come in to beat him, they end up dragging him out again. Dead. I'm almost jealous.

I stop paying attention to the Games until the next day when I hear something Johanna says. "They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love." _But there is!_ I so want to tell her. _You still have me!_ But she doesn't. Not as long as I'm in here and she's out there.

I spend the next hours fuming in anger. Why is the Capitol so cruel? They have done everything to us, but right now I am wholly at their mercy. This is why we needed a rebellion. If we were out from under the Capitol's grip, everything would be better! Our suffering would finally stop! But I'm afraid the revolt has not succeeded, and maybe never will again.

I'm not paying attention to the screen again, but suddenly it goes black. I wait for maybe an hour in the darkness again, like I used to, but soon the door swings open and more prisoners are dragged into the cells beside me. On my right, where Cinna was, they deposit a screaming Annie. Next to her they put a woman I can't see very well, because she's kind of far away and it's so dark, but I don't think I recognize her.

Across from me, they drop a woman who is not screaming but yelling awful things at them. Johanna! I- I thought she would be dead! What happened? Did she win? But I don't think so, because next to her is a man I think might be Peeta. What happened in there?

They put a few more people I can't see into the cells next to him, and then leave. The room is now alive with screaming and crying and cussing. I speak for the first time in months. "Johanna?" I whisper, but my voice is hoarse and cracking.

She hears me though, and looks up for the first time to see my face in the corner. She stops shouting, and her brown eyes widen. She thought I was dead. The one girl she mentored who was a victor. Finally a life she saved in the Games, but died anyway. But I didn't. I should be dead right now, but I'm not.

Time continues now like it used to. We are all tortured in different ways, and I'm beginning to be grateful that the worst thing they ever do to me is beat me. Occasionally they drag out a dead prisoner, and by the noises they make when tortured, I think some of those people toward the front were Avoxes before they died. A few times they take Peeta out and interview him with Caesar Flickerman. Again I lose track of the flow of time.

"Mrs. Tano."

I almost forgot I had a name.

"You'll need to come with us."

_You'll need to carry me_, I think. But instead, to my surprise, they present a wheelchair and lift me into it. They shackle my wrists to the armrests and push me out of my cell, then out of the room.

The rest of the building is just as dark, but when we leave it, I am blinded by the color of the Capitol streets. Where are they taking me? To my execution? I don't think I would mind much if that was the case.

The Capitol people stare at me, and I don't blame them. I probably look awful. I smell awful too, by the way some of them wrinkle their noses. I wonder if any of them recognize me. I don't even mind that I am completely naked. That used to bother me more than anything, but I am so disfigured now that it doesn't matter to me at all. I glare into the crowds as they pass and scowl at anyone who gives me a weird look.

I am led up and down streets until we reach the president's mansion. I half expected this. The guards at his door let us in easily and they take me through his house. Finally we enter a large official-looking room. They push me in front of his desk and then leave. President Snow turns around in his chair so that I am directly facing him and breathing in his blood-breath.


	7. Chapter 7- The Commander

"You know," the President says to me, "it seems quite rude of my guards to have brought you in here like this. I requested to speak to you today, and I knew you were being imprisoned, but I did not expect this."

I only shrug, although I have felt uncomfortable in front of him. My fellow prisoners and the guards and the Capitol people were one thing, but the leader of Panem is entirely another. President Snow presses a button on his desk, and a guard peeks in the door.

"A blanket for Mrs. Tano please," he says, and in less than a minute I am finally covered up again. "So," he begins, "Surely you know what I have required of some of the more, shall we say, desirable victors over the years?"

_You sold them_, I think, but I just nod.

"Do you know why I never sold you?" he demands.

"Yes," I reply as clearly as I can, though I'm still pretty hoarse. "It's because I'm not pretty." And I'm not. I mean, I've never considered myself ugly, but I'm kind of plain. And short, I'm barely five feet.

"Not true," he replies forcefully. "They wanted you. Oh, if you could have seen how they wanted you. Of course, you're not pretty in the classic way, but you've got your own sort of unique, mysterious beauty. With your short but not scrawny build, developed but not over-the-top figure, with your round face and baby cheeks and soft features, and a face that made you look twelve even though you were fourteen. Oh, they wanted you all right."

"So, why didn't you sell me?"

"Oh, I tried. Believe me, I tried. I went to nearly every man in the Capitol that could afford the price I presented, young or old." Old. The thought makes me shudder, which is weird because nothing else he has said yet has disgusted me that much. "But they could not bring themselves to do it." I must look puzzled, because he explains. "You were too innocent. As much as you tried to cover it for your protection, they could not deny that you had not killed anyone." He leans forward and looks me in the eye. "You messed up the rules to my Games, and then you denied me what has always been mine. Money. I'm not used to not getting what I want, Mrs. Tano. I hate you for that."

I don't know how I dare to say this. "I hate you too."

President Snow chuckles. "Many people do," he says. "You may go, Mrs. Tano, but be warned. I do not go easy on the people I hate."

He presses the button again, and they come in again to take me out. As I expected, they take away the blanket as soon as we are out his door. I am deposited into my cell again, and things go back to how they were.

Again I lose track of time. Waking blurs into sleeping. My nightmares become no different from the nightmare that is reality. Darkness. Beatings. Screaming. Terror.

But one time, when the doors open, instead of _them_, in streams a crowd of frantic but capable-looking men.

"He's in here!"

"Peeta's in here!"

"Someone wanna help me with this lock?"

"There are more in here!"

"Four women!"

"Mellark's unconscious, but he's alive!"

"Enobaria is over here!"

"This is the girl Finnick was waiting for!"

"I found Mason!"

"Who's the girl back there in the corner?"

"Her door isn't even locked!"

"That's the little paralyzed victor!"

"Wasn't she supposed to be dead?"

"Grab her, Gale, and let's get out of here!"

Gale scoops me up easily and runs for the door. I must not weigh more than eighty pounds right now. I have to admit, I am slightly uncomfortable with a man like him carrying me naked, but it's not like he's looking. The other men carry those who were my fellow prisoners, and together we make it through the building and onto a hovercraft.

Gale deposits me onto a table surrounded by doctors. "Where are we going?" I choke out to one of them.

"District Thirteen."

What? District 13? They were blown to bits seventy-five years ago! Did they somehow survive? Are they part of the rebellion? Is the rebellion still alive? Why won't anyone tell me anything?!

The hovercraft ride is long and agonizing. I still hurt all over, and no doctors poking me everywhere and telling me I'm safe now are going to fix that. I even catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and almost scare myself. My cheeks are sunken in and hollow and my face is not so round, my hair is beyond tangled, and my eyes, oh my eyes are frightening. Wild. Hollow. Mad.

When we get into District 13- it's underground apparently –and they take me to the hospital, I begin to panic.

"Zane! Where is Zane?! Is he all right?!" I keep shouting at them, but they just keep ignoring me and trying to make sure _I_ am all right. But I'm not without him.

We are in a big open emergency area of the hospital, and people are running around like crazy. I see Annie run toward Finnick and watch them collide. I'm happy for them, but where is _my_ true love? Why isn't he waiting for me?

One of the District 13 officials brings me a wheelchair, and I am covered up with a sheet. The doctors keep examining, and I keep howling. Why are they ignoring me? Don't they see I need him?

As I yell, a woman with a commander's uniform and red hair who was walking past stops when she hears me. By the way her mouth gapes open, I think she recognizes me. She turns to her assistant.

"Go get Commander Tano," she says.

"He's in Command right now," he replies. "War business."

"I don't care. He needs to come down here _now_. Tell him he's needed in the hospital. On my authority."

I don't shout as loudly now, but I still do some. It all doesn't seem real. District 13? _Commander_ Tano? War? The stupid doctors are still trying to calm me down. Perfectly safe. Ha. There is no such thing. I will never, ever, be perfectly safe.

And then I see him. Walking straight and tall like a Commander on just more business. I almost lose sight of him in the crowd. Now would actually be a good time to yell, but I find myself quieting to a whimper.

"Zane!" I manage, but I'm starting to cry. His head turns my way, and things are starting to move in slow motion. As he sees the one calling his name, he first looks puzzled, but then his face registers disbelief, then shock, then something I can only describe as pure emotion. A mix of sadness and joy and passion all in one crying facial expression.

Despite the doctors' protests, I propel my chair forward as fast as my weak hands will let me, which isn't very fast. But it doesn't matter because he is here before I've moved three yards. He swings me up against him, and the chair crashes against his legs and rolls out of the way. We cling to each other, crying, but not kissing; we don't want to lose our grip on each other. I will never let go of him again, not ever.

But something is nagging at me. I don't want to say it. But I can't avoid it forever. I whisper into his ear. "Maurissa?"

He pauses, pulls me back enough so that I can see his face, looks me in the eye, and ever so slightly shakes his head in despair.

* * *

**Well, that was fun, wasn't it? Okay, I'm fo' realz goin on vacation now so no more story for at least a week. :( I still want your feedback though! C'mon, peeps! Help me with this! Opinions! NOW!**


	8. Chapter 8- The Elevator

**Ok, I lied in my author's profile. There is a small sexual reference in this chapter. It's like teeny though, so it doesn't really go against my norm.**

* * *

I think Zane's arms are getting tired, so he sets me back down in my chair. He kneels down next to me and places his hand on my knee, just as he used to. Through his tears he manages, "Is it really you, Val? Are you really alive?"

"Yes," I choke back, "I'm here. I'm alive."

He leans into me and we kiss. He tastes of tears and bitterness and joy, and, just like he used to, salt water. We just keep kissing and kissing, not caring who is watching. It's only when I hear a voice behind me that he finally, reluctantly, pulls away.

"Commander Tano."

I turn my head, and see that it's the redheaded commander who sent for Zane for me.

"I hate to interrupt, but I'm here to inform you that you have been relieved of your duties for the rest of the night. I registered your wife as a citizen into District Thirteen and got you assigned a new compartment: 420. It's wheelchair compatible."

"Thank you, Commander Dunlap," says Zane.

"And thank you," I say, "for getting him for me."

"You're welcome," she says with a little bit of a smile, then turns and walks off.

Zane starts to stand up, but hesitates before taking his hand off my knee.

"What?" I ask.

"I think I'm afraid that if I let go of you, you'll just fade away and none of this will have been real," he says.

"You don't ever have to let go," I reply. I lift my hand up so he can hold it with one of his hands while he pushes me with the other. He takes me back to the doctors, and I finish the examination calmly, clutching his hand the whole time. I'm not sick or injured really, just bruised and scraped and very underweight, so they allow me to live in our compartment, instead of in the hospital.

Zane wheels me out of the hospital and into the hallways. I realize that there is something specifically that could make me feel more like I'm back into reality.

"What time is it?" I ask him.

"20:30," he replies, then adds, "Lights out is at 22:00."

So, it's night. It's good to know that. But I realize that is what I will hate most about District Thirteen. That I still won't see the change between night and day. Will I ever see daylight again?

He approaches an elevator, and something about it suddenly makes my heart race in fear. It's too much like…. It looks too much like….

"Zane." My voice is full of panic.

"I know," he answers.

"The arena," I say. An elevator like this carried me to my nightmare.

"For me too," he says. "I usually take the stairs."

It's not so bad, because we go down instead of up, but I clench my teeth through the whole ride. So when we exit the elevator and head toward Compartment 420, I let out a sigh of relief.

Zane says our compartment is not much different from his old one except for wider doors, a lower sink, a bathtub as well as a shower, and a bigger bed, though that's simply because it's a couple's room. Once inside, I shed the sheet and Zane helps me take a bath. It feels great to shed all this filth.

But I'm ashamed when I see myself in the mirror. I can see every bone in my body, and I'm covered in bruises and cuts.

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this," I say.

Zane shakes his head. "You're alive," is all he says.

After I dry off, he picks me up and sets me on the edge of my bed.

"Let's get you some clothes," he says.

"Wait," I say quickly. "Let's hold off on clothes for a bit." I pull his head down to mine and kiss him.

"I agree," he says.

And once again I allow myself into his arms, feel him inside me again. It's impossible to describe what it feels like to be one with him again, after being apart for so long.

After, we just lay under the covers, holding on to one another. It's almost lights out anyway, so I think we will just stay like this. I have almost fallen asleep when I feel a tear on my arm.

"Zane?"

"I'm sorry," he chokes, "it's just… I thought- I thought I would _never_ see you again. Never hear your voice again. Never push your wheelchair again. But this…." His hand lightly brushes one of my breasts. "This is almost too much."

"You…" I hesitate. "You thought I was dead." It's really more of a question than a statement.

"Yeah," he answers. "Pieces of your wheelchair were found in the rubble of one of the fires that started, along with several dozen skeletons." I'm not squeamish, but the thought makes me cringe. "But…" Zane continues, "you were imprisoned in the Capitol that whole time?"

I nod. "How long… how long was I there?"

"A little over a year." I take a deep breath. A year. "Why?" he asks. "Did it feel that long?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. When you're in there… you have no idea if time is passing quickly, or slowly, or at all. You don't know if it's day or night or if day and night even exist anymore. What felt like an hour could have been a second, but what felt like a minute could have been a day. You just don't know." I pause. "But I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm here now, with you, and that's all over."

There's a second of silence, but then Zane whispers, "I won't let the Capitol hurt you again."

I lean up and kiss him. "I love you, Zane.

"And I love you, Valeria Tano."

…

When I wake in the morning, I'm almost confused. I'm not crouched on a cold, hard, dirty floor in a dark cell. Instead I'm in this bed, in District 13, and Zane is right here next to me. But also, our daughter is dead. Is it possible to be so happy and so sad at the same time?

He finally helps me put clothes on. They feel weird, after all this time naked. The rough cloth hurts a little against my tender skin, but I will get used to it. Unless I'm a prisoner, Zane is the only person in the world I will be naked in front of.

When we go to breakfast in the dining hall, they give me twice as much food as Zane. I look at him weirdly, and he just shrugs. But I happily eat all of it. As I'm eating though, a horrible thought suddenly comes to me.

"My family!" I exclaim. "Back in District Seven!" "They have to know I'm alive!"

"Hmm," says Zane. "Communications are mostly down, because of the war. But Seven has been relatively untouched by the Capitol so far. I might be able to convince them to send you in by hovercraft. I mean, if you think you can do it."

"I don't like it there, but I have to," I say.

"All right. I have to go to Command now, and you have an appointment at the hospital. I'll send for you if they approve it."

"Thank you."

He kisses me on the cheek, and then stands up and leaves. I ask for directions to the hospital, and then take the opportunity to work on the strength in my arms by pushing my own chair. I have to ride in the elevator again, and again I hate it, but I remind myself that I'm gonna have to get used to it.

In the hospital, the doctors check all the usual stuff; ask how I'm feeling, check for broken bones again, etc. I don't know what all the fuss is about. They already checked me yesterday.

Another war official marches into the room. "Valeria Tano?" she asks.

"That's me."

"You are to report to Command immediately."

"I have absolutely no clue where that's at." I could never be an official. I just couldn't get used to talking formally all the time.

She chuckles a little. "Then I will take you."

…

"We understand the importance of your request, Mrs. Tano, says Boggs. "There is obviously your safety to consider, but we have agreed that as long as you are accompanied by bodyguards, the circumstances surrounding the situation have shown to provide sufficient safety. District Seven was acquired by the rebel forces relatively early, and it has not been attacked by the Capitol at all. We assume this is because of the geographical difficulties."

"Thank you."

I am taken to the launch room and am loaded onto a hovercraft. Our journey to District 7 is relatively short, and I think I can smell the pine air before we even land.

But I have only just rolled off the ramp and into the snow when enemy hovercrafts appear at the far end of the district and the bombs begin to fall.

* * *

**Three things: 1. Sorry it took so long to finish this chapter. I went on a mission trip and then I had finals and stuff so... Yay for Christmas break though! 2. Sorry about the name on this chapter. I know it's not like a key plot point, but it was all I could think of. I guess I would take suggestions. 3. Ok, why aren't you all reviewing? It's making me sad. :(**


	9. Chapter 9- The Survivor

I have started to push myself forward before the guards can even order me to come back on board. The snow is thick on the streets, but I have had years of practice. Even the strength I lost over the past year has mostly come back to me since this morning. When you're pushing your whole body around, it doesn't take long to regain strength.

I have expected the guards to have caught up with me by now, but I just keep on going. District 7 is huge, and I am only halfway across the town when the bombing stops and the Capitol hovercrafts fly away. I need to get to the far end, to the Victor's Village, to where my parents and my sister still live. The money I got when I became a victor was far more than enough to sustain three people who cannot care for themselves either because of age or mental disability. But it won't do anything against the bombs.

Now that the bombs have stopped falling, it doesn't take long before two of my guards catch up with me. They can run over twice as fast as I can push myself. I keep going forward as they stop to walk and catch their breath.

"Took you long enough."

The guard on my left answers me. "We thought you would be as scared as the rest of us. It was only once we were all back in the hovercraft and the doors were locked that we noticed you were missing. But the bombs were at the far side of the district, at the centers where the rebels were holding the most power, and we knew someone brave enough to face death in order to help her family could surely take care of herself."

"So you're not here to haul me back?" I knew they would not be cold enough as to just let me leave these people.

"No. The people here need our aid, not our cowardice. We're here to help you," says the other one.

The closer we get to the bombed part, the more scared I become. _Please,_ I think, _please let them still be alive._ But I keep moving forward. Then I start to see the buildings. The damage is not consistent. While one house is remarkably untouched, the one next to it could be reduced to nothing but smoke and rubble. Other, bigger buildings like the Justice Building have only parts destroyed while the other side is fine. People in pain cry out for help from either side of me, but I stay on course. Finally I approach the entrance to the circle of houses.

"Oh no," gasps a guard behind me, but I am in too much shock to say anything. My house has had three large explosions, leaving gaping holes in the roof. Smoke is pouring out of anywhere it can escape. I don't have to wonder: my house was specifically targeted.

The door has been blown off, and though it takes effort, I squeeze my chair through the doorway. The next ninety-two seconds of my life go something like this:

I see Wren sprawled on the couch, trapped under another piece of furniture. I make my way to her, and I don't see blood, so I begin to grow hopeful. But in their confusion, my eyes barely register something else: the piece of metal roofing that has buried itself in her chest.

"Vallie?" She's smiling as she says it. "Vallie, don't cry, it's okay." But I know better. I take her hand and she holds it tightly.

"I- I love you Wren."

"I love you too, Vallie." She leans up and kisses me on my cheek. Then, like she always did, she says, "Aren't you gonna kiss me back?"

"Yeah," I sob, and lightly kiss her cheek. "Yeah."

Wren's grip loosens. On her neck, her pulse slowly comes to a stop. But I refuse to believe it.

"Wren!" I half scream, half choke, and start to shake her. "Wren, wake up! I'm here! I love you! Wren!"

She can't be dead. She's my brown-haired, pale-skinned little bird, with eyes as blue as the sky she flies in. She's my twin. She's my best friend. She's my sister. But she is dead. She barely had the chance to see that I'm still alive, and now she's gone.

Now that the ninety-two seconds are up, I use the little room I have to turn around and roll into what's left of the kitchen. I don't want to see her eyes turn to glass.

"Dad!"

"Valeria?" He sits at the table with his head laid down on it. I'm trying to figure out why when I see that his right arm is pinned between the side of the table and the huge pile of rubble that extends to where the wall to the outside used to be. "Is that really you?"

"Yeah, it's me, Dad. It was a mistake. I got pretty banged up, but I'm here. I'm okay."

"I can't believe it." But I can see that he does. If I weren't real, I wouldn't be in this wheelchair, and my face wouldn't be streaked with tears.

"Where's Mom?"

He pauses and grits his teeth before saying, "Under the rubble. But… but she died less than a few seconds after the initial bomb."

She'll never know. She never knew I was really alive.

I finally call for the guards waiting outside. Together they lift whatever was trapping my dad's arm, and one carries him back to the hovercraft. He says my dad will make it. The other helps me out of the heap of junk that was my house. I don't ever want to go back there.

I want to take the opportunity to try to find my old friends from back before the Games. After them, our friendships just fell apart. They didn't understand what I had gone through, why I acted like I did about it. "Shouldn't you just be happy to be alive?" they asked. "You don't have to feel guilty; you didn't even kill anyone!" Even my madness didn't make sense to them. Sometimes I even got the feeling that they thought I was faking it for the attention or something. They didn't understand, and they didn't try to. Even after my mind healed, I never forgave them.

But now, I wish I had. I go to each of their houses, one by one, only to find that every one of them is dead. Blye, with her thick brown hair, whose smile could make you think she was the happiest person in the world. Vibia, with piercing green eyes, who laughed at _all_ my jokes, funny or not. Hardie, with long blonde hair, who I could talk about anything with, without the slightest danger of a spilled secret. Terra, with the curliest brown hair I've ever seen, who loved books as much as me and could always recommend a good one. Eustacia, with her big blue eyes, and a singing voice that would make all the birds in the forest stop singing to listen.

And then there was Columbae. She was tall and tan and beautiful, and her personality was nothing unworthy of that. She lost her older brother to the Games, and she was more willing to try to understand me when the others wouldn't. When I get to her house, I find her husband, who tells me Columbae died in their first uprising a year ago.

By the time I get back to the hovercraft, I am completely overwhelmed with emotions. Now, there are only three people I care for in the world. How could I have seen so many people die, when the odds say that _I_ should be the dead one. How could I have survived so much, only to watch my world fall around me?


	10. Chapter 10- The Runaway

"How's your dad doing?" Zane asks me.

"They had to amputate his arm, but he's gonna be fine," I say glumly.

"And you? Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine too."

"Hey," he puts his hand on my arm. "Don't just say that. I know you're hurting. I can tell. You can't just hide everything away like that."

"Well, what am I supposed to do? We're in the middle of the dining hall. If I absolutely have to have an emotional breakdown, it's not gonna be here." I play with my mashed turnips with my spoon, pushing them around the tray.

"Hey," Zane says again, louder this time. He takes my face in his hands, turns it toward his, and looks me in the eye. "I know you've lost everything. So have I. But we're okay. You and I. I'm still here. I still love you. Okay?"

"Okay," I answer, smiling just a little.

But he doesn't understand. He doesn't know what I know, because I haven't told anyone. He doesn't know that they're dead because of me. That Snow sent in those bombs the day after I was rescued because he still wants to punish me. He still can't let go of what I did more than eleven years ago. But I guess it makes sense, because I can't either. How could I forget something like that?! How could I forgive myself for what legitimately amounts to murder?! But yesterday, when those bombs went off, the number of people who died because of me became astronomical. No. Nothing is okay.

Later, I start to aimlessly wander through the halls of Thirteen. I'm just rolling along slowly when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"So, I guess I'm not the only one mistakenly thought to be dead."

I swirl around quickly. Standing above me is a young woman, about my age, with long brown hair and milky brown eyes. She looks thin and beaten down, but still beautiful. Columbae.

"I guess not," I reply, "and not only that, but we both died the same way."

"True," she says, "but I bet we didn't live the same way."

"Depends. How did you live?"

"My husband was abusive. When we had an uprising, I left clues of my death, took to the woods, and bolted. It's as simple as that."

But that's not simple. "You knew about District Thirteen?"

"No. I didn't know where I was going. I almost starved. But I got lucky, and found this place just in time. For some reason, they were happy to take me in. And you?"

"I was captured by the Capitol. I was their prisoner for a year. But they rescued me in the same mission as Peeta." I pause. "Have they told you about District Seven?"

"I went last night as part of a medical rescue team. Pretty bad down there." Now it's her turn to pause. "I thought about… about how we treated you back then."

"Me too. It wasn't fair of me to expect you to understand what I'd been through."

"But we should have tried. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

There's silence again, until Columbae finally speaks. "What was it like…" she searches for the words. "…being crazy?

I have to think about that for a second. "Confusion, mostly. Terror, sometimes. It was usually because of the memories of what happened in there. The arena, I mean. Flashbacks, nightmares. When I could see and understand what was really happening outside of my mind, I couldn't control it. My body, my voice, they did things I didn't want them to. Although I guess there were a few times I could control myself but was still violent. Because as weird as it sounds, sometimes screaming and thrashing and breaking things is the best way to quell the grief and pain. But most of the time it was just confusion. I don't remember much of what happened then. It was all kind of a blur."

"But your Games," she says, "they weren't any more traumatic than most. And you survived. The things you saw- we all see them on television. How could one arena have damaged you so much?"

I understand what she's saying. I never expected being a Victor to be like it was. "When you're in that arena, it's not like it is on TV. Everything that's happening is right there next to you. It's so much more real. Your life, it hangs in the balance every second. Even your allies could turn on you. And when you have to watch kids your own age be killed by other humans, then watch them die right in your arms… and not just other humans, teenagers! I was fourteen years old. We were all just kids! When did we become murderers?!"

"But that's just the thing I don't understand. You _weren't _a murderer! You didn't kill anyone! And yet you still have guilt as if you did."

"It may as well have been murder. If I hadn't survived, someone else would have. In that kind of situation, self-defense doesn't become legitimate anymore. I sat by and just watched, just let the other kids die around me, and I didn't do anything. It's almost worse. But see, I was in the _Hunger Games_! I _should_ be dead right now! Do you have any idea how that feels?!" I've started to cry by now. I hate reliving this, but I have to help her understand.

Columbae puts her hand on my shoulder. "I get it," she says, "but I don't think you wish you were dead, either. There's nothing you really could have done. It was just the way things turned out. And to think it was all because of a piece of paper with your name on in."

"I guess that's how a lot of lives are ruined these days," I say. "The tributes who die every year- well, of course the Games hurt them! But no one considers the victors. They don't realize that, for some of us, being a victor is worse than being dead. Leaving the victors alive does _not_ offer hope. Just having your name drawn at the reaping is a death sentence no matter how strong or fast or smart or pretty or just lucky you may be. My body may have survived, but I think my heart is dead."

"No," says Columbae. "I don't think your heart has died yet. You may be wounded now, you may never be the same, but you will heal. It just hasn't happened yet. Your mind healed, did it not?"

I actually smile now. "The credit for that goes to Zane. He never gave up on me, even when I was at my worst. I've actually never understood why he loves me. He has given me the world, but I have nothing to give him in return."

"If he just loved you for what you could give him, now, that wouldn't be love, would it? And I've kept track of you two over the years. I think you give him a lot more than you give yourself credit for."

My eyes drift off to the distance. "I saved his life once." I pause. "But that's a story I don't like to think about." In fact, I've never told a single soul about it. And I never will.

* * *

**Hello my lovely readers! I just had the most geniousest idea for bribery ever! If you review my story, I'll go to your profile and R&R all yours (provided they're thg or another of my fandoms)! Mwahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! So yeah, I'm brilliant! (or something) Btw, I added just a few TFIOS feels, just for the fun of it. And maybe some Insurgent feels too, though you have to look closely for them. (I probably think I'm way more evil than I actually am lol.)**


	11. Chapter 11- The Blood

"You should have told me, Val."

Uh-oh. He looks angry. But why?

"You've been back for four months, and there is no sign of you having or needing any…" It takes him a moment to find the words. "…feminine hygiene."

I should have known he would figure it out.

"You're pregnant."

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't… I couldn't…."

"Never mind, I know the answer to that. Because I know you, and I know you think that if you don't tell me, you can hold off the truth for a little while. But you can't. There is a baby growing inside of you whether you like it or not."

"I can't do it again, Zane! I can't watch another child die."

"Me neither. But we won't have to."

"You can't guarantee that."

"You're right. But you also can't guarantee that we will. And even if we do, I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

He's wrong. I may be many things, but strong is not one of them.

Zane crawls into bed next to me. "How far along are you?"

"Not sure. About three months, I think." I pause. "We were kind of asking for it, you know."

"Yeah, I know. But how could we not?"

I chuckle. "I don't think either of us has a very good willpower."

"Oh, I do…" he says, "…most of the time. Except when it comes to you." I smile and blush a little. "Congratulations, Mrs. Tano."

"Why thank you, Mr. Tano." I drift off to sleep in his arms.

_I roll along the ground. What is this place? My wheels crunch against the sand and the air is hot. The beach? No. There is no ocean around. I am in the desert. The arena! I recognize the ruined city in the distance. No, no, no! I have to get out of here! I push myself faster and faster, but I'm not going anywhere fast. Will I ever get out of this place?_

_ I see people coming toward me. A lot of people. Definitely more than twenty-three. When I start to see the faces, I think I hear myself scream. Those are the tributes! All of them. But there are more people. Scorpi. Dahlia. All of my friends. My mom. Wren. No! They're getting closer. What are they going to do to me?_

_ "You killed me!" That was the tribute girl from District 10._

_ "No, no, I..."_

_ "You killed me!" Are they all going to say this?_

_ They do. One by one, as they go past me. Nothing I say changes their glaring, angry stares. Katana says it, because I didn't help her in time. Conlan says it, because I let him sacrifice himself. It keeps getting worse though. Next come the people I really knew, the ones I loved. Scorpi, Dahlia, my friends, and my mom all say it, because President Snow was punishing me through their deaths. Next are strangers, though I recognize them as people from District 7- the ones that died in the bombing._

_ And then, last, comes the worst one. Wren. No! She's never this angry! She never says things like this! Surely she won't, not like the rest of them! But here she comes. I've never seen an expression like that on her face. I put my hands up as if I can stop the words._

_ "Wren, please, no!"_

_ "You killed me!"_

_ "No!" I scream. Her words are worse than a knife, severing my heart._

_ They're gone now. All of them. But suddenly I feel something on my hands, and look down at them. Blood. Hot, sticky blood. I try to wipe it off, try to rub it off, but it just stays. Nothing will get the blood off my hands._

"Hey, shhhh. You're okay. You're okay, you're here with me.

I'm sobbing and gasping. "Zane…"

"I know. You screamed their names. But it was just a dream, you're okay."

"I- I killed them!"

"No, you didn't."

"They said so!"

"No, they didn't. What you dream comes from your mind. It only shows what you think, not what they think."

"But you don't… understand."

"Don't understand!? Val, I understand all too well! I am a victor too, remember? And I _did_ kill them. I was a volunteer!"

"I- I should be dead. Everyone would be better off if I had just died in that stupid arena!"

"No!" he shouts. I don't usually hear him that angry. "No, I was there once too. I know your remember that day! I know you were sane!"

Of course I remember that day. That was the day I saved his life. "Yeah. It was the day you realized I loved you too. But that's the thing I don't get. You faced all the same guilt that I did, but worse. You were as fed up with life as I am now. Where is that now? Why are _you_ the one comforting _me_?"

"Because I realized- I realized how selfish I was. Suicide that day would have gotten rid of _my_ problems, but what about you? What about everyone else I cared about? And I know it's been on your mind recently- don't try to deny it; I can tell. But I also know you've always hated your selfish side. Don't you see- you may have inadvertently hurt people in the past, but you would be deliberately be hurting me! The day I thought you died was the worst day of my life. Please, don't you _EVER_ put me through that again! Please."

"I- I won't. I'm sorry. But why don't you feel guilty anymore? Why aren't you still broken, like me? Why don't you have nightmares anymore?"

"Oh, I still have a few. But what happened in my arena is the past. I regret it yes, but I realized that I couldn't let it control my life anymore. I think that's what's happened to you. _Let go_, Valeria, and forgive yourself for the bad choices you've made. What happened in the past is gone, and nothing can change what happened in it. Don't live for the past, live for the future, because at this point, it's all we have left."

I think about this for a minute. "I want to. I really do, but how?"

"When your past is brought up in any way, recognize that you made a bad choice, but rest in the fact that you're different now. Don't dwell in your shame. Instead of remembering how you were selfish in the past, actively make selfless decisions. Don't let what you've done define who you are. Who you are now, as a person, that's you." There's a pause. "Oh man, I sound like a counselor or something."

I chuckle. "It was a bit pithy, but it's just what I needed. Thank you." Then I remember something I wanted to know. "Why do you love me?"

He seems taken aback by the question. "There are a lot of reasons. I always loved you, you know that?" No, I didn't. "I guess not from the very first moment I saw you on television, but long before you had ever heard of me."

I guess, when I was crazy, I have a few vague memories of knowing he loved me while I still considered him a friend. I remember being confused, because no guy had ever liked me before. Especially not one older than me. I never had to "friendzone" anyone- until him. I had always figured that unless a guy was really ugly or really annoying- and Zane wasn't –I would automatically like him back, because I would take what I could get. But then, when I first met him, I had mentored tributes for a couple years already, so I was at nearly my worst psychological hour. The concept of loving anyone hardly ever crossed my addled mind. So we were friends for a year. Then, on that day, before it happened, I was able to connect enough thoughts to realize that I loved him. And it wasn't just a "like", just a "crush"; I really cared about him. And in the middle of that moment, I remembered that he loved me too.

"Of course," he continues, "my friends, my brothers, they never understood why I liked you. After all, and I think you will admit this, you're not like smokin' hott or glamorously pretty. And I knew that. But you also have your own sort of mysterious beauty, which they couldn't see but that I loved. But don't get me wrong, appearance was hardly what I cared about. You- you're a very complex person, and because of that kind of hard to describe. You're sweet and nice, but not so much as to constantly have a smile on your face. Sometimes you're likeable, and other times not so much. You're not mean or unfriendly, not usually anyway, but you can be kind of pessimistic- just part of your charm, mind you. You can definitely be angry, but you don't have a bad temper or anything. And not at all shallow.

"But your best qualities, the ones that really made me fall for you… well, for one, your complexity, which I just described. You're a very three-dimensional person- scratch that, you've got like seven dimensions! And also, the bond between you and your sister. The love you had for her, I didn't get to see a lot of it, but what I did see, and what I heard, was incredible. It was different than if you just loved her in spite of her disability- it genuinely did not make one ounce of difference to you. That was amazing to me. Lastly, you have kind of an underlying strength. It's not obvious- I don't think even you see it –but it's definitely there. A strength that says you _will_ go on, you _will_ fight through today, even if today is hell. You see, I like you for your appearance, but I love you for you."

I've just been listening, just soaking it all in. How does he know more about me than I know? Does he really love all that?

"Okay, Val, it's 3:00. We should probably go to sleep now."

"I love you so friggin' much."


End file.
